


An Early Christmas

by joan_waterhouse



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 07:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13290417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joan_waterhouse/pseuds/joan_waterhouse
Summary: It had been so easy to not do anything about his feelings for Jimmy. Jimmy had always been there and would always be a part of his life in some capacity. But now Alastair couldn’t shake the thought this might be their last Ashes tour together and that it might all just slip away if he didn’t act soon.





	An Early Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amy_broad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amy_broad/gifts).



> Written for omg_broady's prompt "Jimmy Anderson/Alastair Cook - ‘this might be our last Christmas on tour together’".
> 
> Happy Crickmas! I hope you like what I came up with.
> 
> Thank you to Cleo_Jay for the beta! <3   
> (All remaining mistakes are of course my own!)
> 
> Sometimes I have a song that I listen to on repeat while I write a fic. In case anyone is interested, this time it was [this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7EYk83xz3dQ).

On the evening England lost the Ashes, Alastair went to bed early. Not as early as usual, but he had joined the team only for the bare minimum of drinks at the post-match piss-up before he made his excuses. Alcohol made him maudlin, always had, and that’s definitely nothing he needed help with these days.

England had lost the Ashes only three matches into the tour. As if that alone hadn't been bad enough, the possibility that this was likely to be his last time playing in Australia hovered in the air like the smell of gym socks in their dressing room on the fifth day of a test.

As unpleasant as it was, this awareness imbued this particular tour with a sense of importance. Everything he did felt like a little goodbye and reminded him that time was running out to get around to do all the things he had been postponing over the years.

It had been so easy to not do anything about his feelings for Jimmy. Jimmy had always been there and would always be a part of his life in some capacity. But now Alastair couldn’t shake the thought this might be their last Ashes tour together and that it might all just slip away if he didn’t act soon. He had decided to give himself until Christmas to do something about it.

The feeling that he wasn't alone in this had felt tangible when he'd shared rooms with Jimmy back in Perth at the start of the tour. Back then he didn't have to work hard to find excuses to spend time with Jimmy, it had all just fallen into place. Almost like Jimmy had a very similar, compatible goal.

This second time around in Perth it all felt so much more out of reach. The cautious optimism of the team before the start of the tour had given way to frustrated determination and then outright dejection. Off the field Alastair wasn’t feeling much better. They were back to their usual single hotel rooms. Gone were the mornings when Alastair returned to the shared suite after his run to find Jimmy with messy hair and a cup of tea on their sofa ( _their_ sofa), looking endearingly grumpy. It had all felt possible back then - now it was just a week until Christmas and still nothing had happened.

He could hear his mates’ voices through the wall between his and Jimmy's room as he failed to fall asleep. They had made the uncharacteristically wise decision to drink (mourn?) in Jimmy’s room instead of in a public bar. Another alcohol-related news story was the last thing the England team needed.

The noises from next door weren't showing any sign of subsiding. On the contrary, Alastair could have sworn they were actually getting louder. As sleep clearly wasn't happening, he got out his phone to see if there where any messages indicating what the guys were up to.

*

Jimmy should have seen it coming. He really should have. But apparently he was too responsible (dumb) for his own good and decided to fulfil his duties as vice-captain and offer his room as a place where the team could drink away their Ashes-related sorrows.

It had started civilly enough, with the lads just sitting around having a couple of beers. How it had escalated to this, god only knew. Jimmy had only stepped out to go to the loo for a second and returned to mayhem.

The room was cluttered with an array of bottles in various states of empty. In the middle of it all Joe was busy explaining why it had all gone wrong. See, the Aussies really weren't _that_ good. And if some very minor details, coincidences really, had been just a tiny bit different, England would be the victors today. To illustrate his points he had gone into full (inebriated) captain mode and was setting a field around Jimmy's bed, commanding Broady to bowl at him. The last piece missing was a bat, and who had time to go get a real one when they were as in full flow as Joe was now? So he simply grabbed the closest Champagne bottle he could reach. What he very clearly hadn't thought through first was that choosing an empty bottle should prove of great importance.

Jimmy watched helplessly as several things happened in very quick succession. Joe, who had taken guard right next to the bed, held the bottle by the neck and awaited Stuart's delivery. As the tennis ball bounced on the bed towards him, Joe turned the bottle upside down and swung it to demonstrate a pretty decent, yet fateful, cover drive, subsequently drenching himself and his surroundings in warm, stale bubbly.

Most people present found this absolutely hilarious. Jimmy, who was starting to feel emphatically too old for this shit, wasn't most people.

"That's it! Out! All of you," he shouted.

As the laughter subsided and the team filtered out of the room mumbling apologies, Jimmy became slowly aware of the true state his room was in. He wasn't thrilled to explain to the ECB the huge cleaning bill looming in the near future. He picked up a few bottles, put them next to the bin, half-heartedly soaked up some spilled beer with a tiny napkin. It was no use.

He felt suddenly incredibly tired. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the screen of his phone light up on the nightstand.

_What the hell is going on over there?_

Jimmy didn't have it in him to sum up the situation with words, so he snapped a quick photo in reply to Cooky.

 _Bed is drenched too,_ he added in case the image didn't fully convey the extent of his misery.

Three pulsating dots suggested Cooky was typing a long reply, yet the message Jimmy received minutes later simply read, _Shit :(_

_You can say that._

_Do I even want to know what happened?_

_Probably not. I bet Joe will insist it was hilarious. Should make him swap beds. Would serve him right._

The dots were back, this time followed by a message that gave this evening a whole new direction.

_You can sleep in my room, if you like._

Jimmy couldn't remember if Cooky's room had a sofa in it or if the message implied what he thought (hoped) it implied. He wasn't left wondering for long.

_my bed's large enough_

*

Alastair was still debating whether the lack of capital letters suitably indicated appropriate indifference or if he should delete and deny after all, when there was a knock on his door and he started to panic.

He hadn't expected Jimmy to actually take him up on it. Not without at least a couple of minutes insisting he couldn't inconvenience Alastair. He hadn't thought it through, he wasn't ready. Why did he even suggest it in the first place?

Alastair scrambled to quickly find a pair of boxer shorts. Being completely naked would have been far too presumptuous. What if it wasn't Jimmy at the door after all? Should he put on a shirt? He should, shouldn't he? On the other hand he _did_ want there to be at least an indication that this could be something more than simply a mate offering a place to sleep. So no shirt then.

When he finally opened the door he did so with a lot of adrenaline rushing through his veins.

People insisted Jimmy's face was only capable of displaying a range of different states of grumpy. Alastair knew better, had seen it all over the years. The one he saw now was one of his favourites. Jimmy displayed a small, cocky smile and yet managed at the same time to look shy and vulnerable. It took Alastair's breath away.

A couple of seconds had passed and they were still just standing in the doorway, staring. Alastair made himself move so Jimmy could enter, but Jimmy didn't step past him. He just stepped closer and closer. So close that Alastair felt the heat radiating off Jimmy's body. So close that their noses were touching. So close that Jimmy's lips were now pressed against his, with Jimmy's hands on his hips, slowly making their way around to his back. And then there was far too much space between them again.

"Did I misread this?" Jimmy said, his voice low.

Only then did Alastair realise that he had stood stock-still during all of this.

"No," he said and reached to draw Jimmy closer again. "No, you haven't misread this at all."

*

When Alastair woke it was still dark out and far too early to get up. There was an arm draped over his chest. Jimmy's nose was pressed against his shoulder.

"Merry early Christmas to me," Alastair thought as he placed a kiss on Jimmy's head and drifted back off to sleep with a smile.


End file.
